


DEATH EON.b64

by Elyos



Category: Dan Salvato, Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel), Project Libitina, ddlc
Genre: Doki doki literature club - Freeform, Other, dan salvato - Freeform, ddlc - Freeform, libitina - Freeform, project libitina - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 18:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17167001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elyos/pseuds/Elyos
Summary: Everything you're about to read is a complete and utter lie.





	DEATH EON.b64

Something's funny here.

Ready for a classic line? I don't mean the “ha-ha” kind of funny, I'm talking about the strange kind of funny, the weird kind of funny, the funny that you don't want to laugh at.

Maybe that's not a classic line. I heard it in a cartoon once, when I was a boy. Why on earth did I apply for this job? Why on earth did they give me the interview? Why on earth did they hire me, before the interview was over?

A good thing! Right?

Wrong.

There's nothing good about this. Day in and day out, everything is the same. I joined Salvato Enterprise to make a name for myself. The prestigious place to be, the place where you can hold your head high and be proud of who you are, and what you do. Everyone's friends here!

...Is what I want to say. Nobody is friends here! Nobody trusts each other! Everyone just sticks to themselves, and the only time someone does talk to me is when they have a crazy story to tell (about this place we all work at, whee!), or if they have a question about their job! I mean, what?! I'm the newbie here! Why are you asking me all the questions?! Shouldn't I be the one asking you all the questions?! Why me?!

Why?

It's making me ill. My brain takes a shit three times a day here: when I show up, around lunch time, and ten minutes before I go back home. What is it about this place that sinks my spirit so low? What is it about these people that drives me fucking crazy?

The answer: Libitina.

Oh, yes, there's an answer to it all. The bitch sleeping in room A114, that one. Why the fuck is everyone so goddamn scared of her? She's a vegetable in there! Why lock the door?! Why all the seals?! Why the extra security measures?! Why send patrols around room A114 every twenty minutes?! Why stop me and question me every time I walk by that room? I'm not going to open the fucking door, assholes. Why the hell would I? To talk to her? The bitch has no relatives. Nobody visits her.

No one.

So what's the fucking problem?

Since the day I arrived here, she's been as dark as a burnt out light bulb that nobody wants to change. I hear all these crazy stories about how the bitch apparently woke up and murdered thousands of people here. Why wasn't that shit on the news? Oh, right, because none of us are allowed to talk to the media, and the media will be shot and killed if they set foot here uninvited.

Salvato Enterprise is owned by the government. I did have to jump through hoops to actually start working here. Yes, they threw the position at me halfway through my interview, but you have to understand, I swore an oath of secrecy. I'm not allowed to talk about anything I see, anything I hear, anything I do, and anyone I communicate with. In fact, I'm not even allowed to leave this fucking place at the end of my shift until I've been properly interrogated and patted down by security.

They wouldn't want me selling government secrets. That's a thought that has me rolling my eyes every time I'm not blinking. Which is a hell of a lot of eye rolling.

And what's the deal with this “forbidden zone” I keep hearing about? Uh, what? What forbidden zone? Isn't that the place where some dipshit named Vincent Hart went and fucked with one of the test subjects who was supposed to stay asleep until the higher-ups figured out what the hell to do with her? I heard all about her. She was one of their early “Third Eye” experiments. And before you ask me, no, I don't know shit about this Third Eye stuff, except that some nameless bitch in the forbidden zone came over here, to the lit zone, woke up Libitina, and set her loose on all the people she killed a year ago.

Yeah. It's apparently been a whole year since that shit happened. It must've been bad, to have scared everyone this way.

I'm a pathologist. I'm part of an elite team of other pathologists who aid the “doctors” who administer special drugs in the test subjects. Some of them scream. Some of them giggle. Some of them soil themselves. I mean the subjects, not the doctors. One thing all these test subjects have in common is their age. They start out young, and they grow up in captivity. I've seen some weird shit with them, some of which I don't feel comfortable telling you about. Let's just say they had their limbs amputated and reattached to different parts of their, uh, “bodies,” if we want to call them that.

Yeah. It's probably what you're thinking, but worse.

My whole schtick is I need to coordinate with my team to get to the bottom of any symptoms the test subjects might develop. Because they're subject to torture—excuse me, experimentation—they tend to catch communicable diseases. Most of these ailments are common, but we get some different ones more often than I'd like. A boy developed abortive polio after his first exposure to foreign substances administered by the doctors. On a bizarre note, this disease, which is supposed to last at least two weeks, apparently ran its full course in the time frame of eighteen hours. By the next day, the boy was fit as a fiddle. Stuck in his room, scared, and crying, but otherwise healthy. A girl caught strep throat. My God, that shit turned the back of her throat whiter than death. I was all too happy to help kill that one.

You get the picture. This is what I do every day. When a test subject starts feeling under the weather, my job is to swoop in, run some tests, take a culture if I can, return to the lab, analyze it, and figure out what it is. That's the basic explanation for what I do. I don't have time to go into full detail of all the shit I have to do. Being a pathologist isn't a game of “Find the disease!” although sometimes it feels like it. There's a lot more to it, which I'm sure you don't give a shit about, so let's stop the explanation here and go on to this crazy thing that's happening right now as we speak.

The time is 18:30, the end of my shift. The night people are filing in. As I relinquish my chair and computer terminal to the other handsome guy in the lab coat, I tell him how my day went (pretty shitty!) and what he's in for (a shitty night!). After that, I gather my shit, put my laptop in my bag, make sure my phone's still in my pocket, and step over a dead body as I make my way toward the exit.

Just as I knew they would, two big, strong-chinned security men are at the doors waiting for me. I walk toward them alone, my backpack slung over my shoulder by one strap. They step toward me, one of them holding his hand out.

“Backpack. Now.”

I hand my backpack over. While he's sliding every zipper from one side of my backpack to the other and sifting through my shit, the other security guy looks me dead in the eye and starts asking me questions.

“Did you bring anything from the lab?”

I tell him no.

“Did you contact anyone?”

Again, I tell him no.

“Did you sign out of your computer before you left?”

I snap my fingers and smile apologetically just to get a rise out of him. Of course I did, but I want to see how he's going to react. The security man fixes upon me the most soul-rendering glare I've ever had the displeasure to experience. I quickly tell him that I was just kidding, but he isn't buying it.

“Stay right here,” he growls. “I'm going to go check.”

I raise my hands in surrender. Okay, okay, I tell him. Fine. Go ahead. Check and see for yourself. Hey, buddy, I say to the guard who's still sifting through the stuff in my backpack. Did you find anything interesting in there? Loose Cheetos? Maybe a few Dorito crumbs?

“Shut the fuck up.”

Well, alright, then. I'm not about to get in a fight with this guy, he could probably flatten me with his arm alone. The fucker's huge! I bet he's got a small dick, from all the steroids he's been taking. Nobody gets that big without some roids. If he roid-rages on me, I'm fucked.

A minute later, the first security guy returns from checking my computer terminal.

“Don't pull that shit on me again,” he scolds, pointing his stronger-than-me finger in my face. “If I ask you a question, you tell me the fucking truth. You understand me?”

Alright, alright! I snap at him. He gives me one more death-defying glare before joining his buddy at my backpack. He's still sifting through that shit! My God, all I have in there are my books and my laptop!

When the ritual finally ends, they reluctantly hand me back my bag, I sling it over my shoulder, and bid cheerio to Tweedle Dick and Tweedle Balls. They keep a sharp eye on me as I freeze in the middle of grabbing the door handle.

Wait a minute. Back there, at my computer terminal. Was I imagining that? I turn back to Idiot #1 and Idiot #2, and I ask them—specifically Idiot #1, who was the one who checked my computer—if he saw any dead bodies while he was there.

“A dead body? Nobody's died here since Libitina woke up last year. You'd better show up tomorrow, or I'm coming to your house.”

I don't think you're legally allowed to do that, I say smartly. Besides, I'm scheduled to work tomorrow, so... God, I hope I don't get sick, or anything like that.

And then I leave.

* * * * * *

I come back the next day, feeling rejuvenated and unwilling to go through with this shit. I push open the door, making my way into the busy Enterprise at which I work. I walk by a room where a two doctors are pinning a teenage boy to his bed, while a third doctor pumps a hacksaw down through his windpipe, and I sit down at my computer terminal, thinking about how the day's going to go. Nobody fucking talks to each other here.

My chair's somewhat comfortable. I spin my chair lazily, sweeping my gaze across the other workers around me. Their eyes are glued to their terminal screens. Something's obviously eating at them. The hell could it be?

I turn my computer on and begin my workday.

An hour passes, two hours, so far so good. It's actually not too bad today, despite everyone being dead fucking silent. Oh, but wait, there's Miss Loony Loom (Mrs. Loom, more accurately, but who the fuck has the surname “Loom”? Jesus...). I ain't gonna lie, she's hot. The way her big ass jiggles through that lab coat makes me want to—

Well, never mind that. I think I have a crush on someone else. Her name might start with E. Where was I? Oh, right, Mrs. Loom is coming over to greet me like she sometimes does. I lid my eyes tiredly as I listen to her sexy, yet obnoxious voice sing into my ear hole.

“Today's been so hectic, Vince! Thomas ended up dropping a vial full of smallpox all over the floor.”

Smallpox? That shit doesn't exist anymore. How could it have surfaced here?

“Well, room 206 in the B wing developed smallpox after she was exposed to URI-42-79.”

URI-42-79? Don't those idiots know they're not supposed to use that shit on girls?! No wonder. Christ, what am I going to have to do with these people, kill them?

I wish. Some of these asshole doctors deserve to die.

I turn my head away from Mrs. Loom to take note of something on my computer screen. When I look back at her, she reaches up and peels the skin off her own face, exposing the bloody meat underneath. The next thing I know, I'm jumping out of my chair, screaming what the fuck.

She's gone.

Everyone's gone.

I look around, and the only sign that there may have been other sentient life here is the leather chair about two computer terminals down from me, rotating to a stop.

A cool female voice makes an announcement over the loudspeaker, breaking the silence with news that A114's door has been opened.

That's Libitina's door.

No...

No.

NO!

I quit this job!

I'm running for the exit. Fuck my computer, fuck my laptop, fuck everything and everyone who vanished! My body's getting heavy. I've only been running for five seconds, and my arms and legs are turning to lead. The exit... my passage to safety... it's drifting farther away from me. Gasping for air, I look back at the woman with her blond hair in a rat's nest, dressed poorly in her torn and bloodstained white medical gown, walking toward me.

She follows at a creeping pace. I still can't outrun her. I can see a crimson light burning through the thin, horizontal split between her eyebrows.

There's nothing that's going to fucking save me from this. Have I been living a sick dream these past twelve months?

“The facility is mine,” says Libitina in her jagged voice that makes my blood flow in reverse. “Vince. Stay with me.”

My name is not Vince, damn it! It's Eli! I'm fucking Eli Price! ELI PRICE!

It's over.

I fall face down on the filthy floor that hasn't been cleaned since the day Libitina first woke. Where did the light go? It's so dark in here. Have I been...? In here? The whole time?

“Who is your new God?” Libitina asks me, her question grinding my soul to dust.

Y... you are... Elyssa... the... Libitina... Project...

And I feel her hand on my back. The wave of heat hits me, and sweat soaks my unwashed clothes. I sink into her...

I am neither dead nor alive.

I've become a part of the Libitina Project.

I've always been here.

I'll always be here.


End file.
